


Cashmere

by excessiveprepositionalphrases



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff, Julian has bad taste in clothes, M/M, Sweaters, some garashir for your quarantine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24139432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excessiveprepositionalphrases/pseuds/excessiveprepositionalphrases
Summary: In which Julian teaches Garak the value of a good sweater.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 27
Kudos: 144





	Cashmere

Minus 3 degrees Celsius was no one’s idea of a good time. It was no one’s idea of a good time outdoors, but it was especially not a good time indoors. Miles O’Brien, on his third cup of hot coffee and wearing several layers of freshly replicated snow wear over his uniform, was exquisitely aware of exactly how many people did not think this was a good time. Had he been somewhere on the promenade, and not, as he was, deep within a power conduit, he would have considered himself blessed to discover that no matter how annoyed everyone who had shouted his name today had been, the person who was the _most_ annoyed had picked someone other than him to complain to. That questionable honor went, of course, to one very patient doctor.

Garak had seen the doctor wear a wide range of ridiculous clothing over the years. Hideous shiny purple things, combat boots and turtlenecks, and a couple of different varieties of ancient battle gear. But this – this was a new look entirely. Julian Bashir was puttering anxiously around his infirmary, clearly trying desperately to save whichever of his running experiments he could from the blistering cold, wearing – well, what exactly was he wearing? Garak took a moment to suss out the details of the outfit. He was still _technically_ in uniform, the familiar boots and black stirrup pants forming the bottom half of the look. But he had the top half of his black and blue jumpsuit unzipped, the arms tied around his waist, and in its place, wore an aesthetically offensive sweater – neon blue with a broad pink diagonal stripe running across from the shoulder to the waist.

“ _Interesting_ sartorial choice you’ve made there, Doctor,” Garak mocked affectionately, stepping uncomfortably into the infirmary. He wondered if it was possible to hear the shivering in his voice.

“It’s freezing!” Julian protested. He laid eyes on his companion, noticed the obvious shivering in his limbs, and softened his tone. “But I’m sure you’re far more aware of that than I am. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Garak rubbed his arms in a desperate attempt to ward off the cold. “Cold is no excuse for those colors, Doctor. And no, nothing specific. I was rather hoping you might have some emergency environmental controls in this room, it being the infirmary and all, but it seems like you’re just as frozen as the rest of us.”

Julian picked up a large mug from the table in front of him and wrapped his hands around it, carefully lacing his fingers so that all of them were touching the warm ceramic. “Sadly, no. I’ve got backup generators, but this isn’t a power issue. The heating is completely out, all over the station.”

“Shouldn’t you have some gloves on?”

Julian held up the mug he was still grasping. “Hot tea,” he explained, gesturing with the mug in the vague direction of the small plants he had been handling. “The heating is out but the replicators are working perfectly. I’m not even drinking this; I’m just warming my hands with it. Gloves would be better but I was hoping to save the plants before they all froze completely. It’s delicate work. The gloves were too clumsy.” He took a few steps in Garak’s direction, staring at him in that way he often did when he was trying to triage someone from a distance. “If either of us should be wearing warmer clothing, it’s you, Garak.”

“ _These_ are the warmest clothes I own.”

“Clearly not warm enough,” Julian admonished. “You’re shivering. Your body wasn’t made for these kinds of temperatures.” Julian unlaced a hand from the steaming mug he was still holding and pressed his fingers into Garak’s temple.

“Oh, and I suppose you’d rather I were dressed – ” Garak began, and stopped mid-sentence. He’d been fully expecting the doctor to pounce immediately with his ministrations. In truth, he’d been _hoping_ for it. He hadn’t been prepared, though, for Julian’s fingers to be so warm, almost hot against his cold skin. The unexpected warmth sent goosebumps running down his limbs.

“Are you alright?” Julian asked, as Garak broke off mid-sentence.

“Yes. I’m quite alright, Doctor. Your hands are…surprisingly warm.”

Julian smiled, almost mischievous, and raised the mug of tea still in his other hand. “The tea, remember?” he said. “It’s very effective. Here” – he pushed the mug of tea into Garak’s hands. “You need it. Your pulse is irregular. This might be what passes for your idea of warm clothing, but it’s not going to cut it.”

“And look like _you,_ Doctor?” Garak asked, finally getting to resume his prematurely aborted quip from a few seconds before. “What is that ridiculous article of clothing you’re wearing, anyway?”

“Do you not have sweaters on Cardassia?”

“Need I remind you, Doctor, that the average winter temperature on Cardassia is 33 degrees. Besides, that looks _highly_ uncomfortable. And incredibly ridiculous.”

“It’s lovely, I promise. It’s very soft. Here, feel,” and with this Julian extended an arm in Garak’s direction, waiting expectantly to be petted. Garak ran a cautious hand along the material, trying not to think too hard about the fact he was currently running his hand down Julian’s arm. The material, though, was very, very soft, as promised.

“What is it made of?”

“Cashmere.”

“Which is?”

“Goat hair.”

“I thought humans were above using animals in such ways,” Garak snarked.

“It’s _replicated,_ Garak. No goats were harmed, I promise.”

Garak found himself absentmindedly petting the material. He froze when it sunk in completely that he had been stroking Julian’s arm.

“Are you sure you don’t want one? I’m sure the replicator would have no difficulty with a sweater in your size.”

“No, thank you, Doctor,” Garak answered, almost against his will. He wasn’t quite sure what had prompted him to turn down the offer. The sweater was so soft and looked so warm, and he was so very, very cold, and Julian seemed so earnest and concerned, just like he always was. But for some reason, the offer of free warmth was impossible to accept. And then Julian was touching his face again, this time pressing the back of his hand into Garak’s cheek.

“You’re frozen,” Julian said softly. “I’ve got to warm you up.”

“And how, may I ask, do you plan to do that, with the complete lack of heating on the station?”

Julian didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, he wrapped the shivering Cardassian in his arms, and held him close.

“Is this really necessary, Doctor?” Garak asked. He wanted to smack himself. _Why_ was he complaining? It was something he could have fantasized, though he never would have admitted it, even to himself – to have Julian hold him close like this. Garak wasn’t particularly used to being held at all. There was a warm safety in the way Julian was holding him, both arms tight around his ribs. Julian’s hands were still hot from the tea, and he had one pressed firmly into Garak’s side, and the other wrapped carefully over one of the ridges on his neck. Garak wanted to complain. His first reaction was to complain. But the truth was that he also _didn’t_ want to complain. Deep down he had no desire at all to ever get out of this embrace, his cheek pressed into the soft fabric of the Doctor’s sweater. It was a knee jerk reaction, something he couldn’t help. He was aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he had no idea how to accept this kind of tenderness. Julian, apparently a few steps ahead of his thought process, interrupted him.

“It’s alright,” Julian whispered. Garak wasn’t sure even Julian had ever used that _particular_ tone on him. The softness was almost hypnotic, and Garak was reassured, almost against his will. “Just let me hold you, just this once,” Julian continued in that soft voice. “You can go back to pretending you don’t need affection tomorrow. But for now, just let me hold you.”

Garak finally allowed himself to relax into the hug.

“What are they going to think, if they find us like this?” he asked, unable to turn off that particular voice of anxiety.

“I’m keeping you from freezing to death,” Julian answered, a smile creeping across his face. “I’d say that’s well within my duties.”

* * *

“Nice sweater, Garak,” Julian teased. His Cardassian companion was seated at his usual table, PADD in hand, and clad in a very familiar beige sweater. Well, the _style_ was familiar. The colors were decidedly more subdued than Julian’s choices.

“I had to make some aesthetic adjustments,” Garak responded, eyeing the Doctor judgmentally. “Not everyone can pull off those colors. But I will admit, I have seen the value of this garment. This is the warmest I have been in recent memory. Though, I do have one complaint.”

“Which is?”

“Somehow I find it’s not quite as warm as yours, Doctor.”

“Mine is stored in the replicator, if you wanted the exact same one. I’m sure it could handle some color changes! It’s stored under –”

Garak cut him off. “I’m completely aware. That is, after all, where I got it from.”

“If it’s the exact same sweater, then, why do you say it’s not as warm as mine?”

“Because, my dear Doctor, _you_ are not inside it.”


End file.
